The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings - Lot 016: The Pancake Family (ft. Kate Siegel and Devon Sawa)

Episode Date: October 19, 2023

A retired detective plummets into the dark recesses of the unsolved case that plagues him.Written by AA PetersonStars Devon Sawa and Kate SiegelFeaturing Stephen Knowles as the Antique DealerTheme music by The Newton BrothersAddition sound fx by: AV ProductionsAdditional music:Dark Tension Rising Music by Mattia Cupellihttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-zvQoPyY2XEDeceit by Marc Van Der Meulen // Ghost Stories Incoporatedhttps://marcvdmeulen.com/royalty-free-horror-musicTo Their Sorrow by Marc Van Der Meulen // Ghost Stories Incoporatedhttps://marcvdmeulen.com/royalty-free-horror-musicLoneliness by Marc Van Der Meulen // Ghost Stories Incoporatedhttps://marcvdmeulen.com/royalty-free-horror-musicDark Project by ESN Productionshttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=svAspF0nxC0CO.AG ([e-mail]) Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

Ah, you again. Can't tell you how much we love the repeat visits to our little shop. Something very unique came in the other day that has been disrupting my sleep in the worst way. What do you make of this? An envelope full of, ephemera of some sort. Appears to be old newspaper clippings from a deeply disturbing missing persons case. where an entire family just disappeared. Tattered polaroids of each one of them in here, too. Ah, this is from the Driscoll case.

Heard of it? Be glad you haven't. If you think you have the stomach, however, take a seat at the table here while I tell you all about the pancake family. Welcome to the antiquarium of sinister happening. and odd goings on. It's just that I'm... What's the word for it?

There are enough times in the field. Sort of figured if I was ever going to experience it myself, then I would have experienced it by now. I'm floating outside my body. See the crime scene. I used to stop rattling. And while you're holding on the coffee like that, I'm shaking the table, aren't I?

Hold on a second. Let me back up the chair. We got to go, officials. now, Hobb. Can you confirm for the record that you're waiving your right to an attorney? No. I'm still not interested in an attorney. I mean, yes. I'm waiving my rights. Sorry. Are you sure? Yes. Let the record show that Detective Hobson-Mellgate retired has waived his right to an attorney. I won't need a lawyer after the DA stops puking and considers taking it public. They're not showing that to a jury. Are you ready to begin?

No? What led you to the crime scene on the night in question? Would you believe I was planning a fishing trip before this started? Organize it. I've been on this side of the interrogation table before. I guess it started with the reporter. He contacted me a week ago by email and claimed she had new information on the Driscoll murders. I was the lead investigator.

The case had gone unsolved for 20 years. Cold as ice. I thought it was bullshit at first. You know how that can be. Most of the time is not even on purpose. Everyone thinks they know something that will crack the case wide open. Theories are easy when you don't have to check them against evidence. The Driscoll murders were a big story around these parts.

Lots of interest, lots of press. Over the years, I must have gotten a couple hundred shit theories. When I retired, I handed the investigation over to Detective Carroll. But I didn't want him to be bothered. Oh, he's busy with recent gang activity. I figured I'd check it out as a courtesy. I wasn't expecting it to go anywhere. I met her for lunch at Per Year's Cafe.

Good-looking blonde gal, professional. She didn't fit the typical profile of a hoax or a conspiracy theorist. Not that I put too much faith in profiles. She also might have been one of those creepy gals that gets off on death. God knows I've dealt with the... those two. Still thought she might be pulling my leg or maybe she had been fool too. But she

had a file with her. Look legit. It would appear to be a confession by the Driscoll or Ozzy. Who wish she had been, you know. Go much better for everyone. Can you please fill us in on the relevant details of the Driscoll case?

Let's see. 20 years ago now. Take your time, Hobb. Thanks. The Driscoll's are a family of six out in the suburbs. Class. Father was an attorney to selling pottery out of her house. Four children, all high school age and below. Good kids. No records to speak of. The oldest son was caught smoking dope but his high school ones, but besides that, just the typical stuff you

find when you look at people too closely. They disappeared October 13th, 19. No trace was found of bodies. The mystery in seeing how it was right around Halloween is probably why the press went so crazy. You still see it show up on some of those unsolved mystery shows. A whole family disappeared and no one saw a thing. A neighbor logged a sound complaint, which is how we got involved. There was an alarm going off and they figured it might be an intruder or something. We dispatched the vehicle.

When no one answered the door, the patrolmen went in to investigate. There were obvious signs of a struggle in the youngest daughter's bedroom. Over when the sheets were torn. We found elevated concentrations of carbon monoxide in all the fabric of the bed spreads except for the youngest daughters.

The neighbor indicated the alarm had been sounding for over a day, and he'd been unable to get anyone to answer the door during that time. We also found several aluminum canisters and some hoses in a dumpster a few blocks away. At the time, we assumed the Driscolls had been gassed and disposed of at a different location, except, of course, the daughter who woke up at the end and put up a struggle,

the investigation gave no leads. Of course, our first thought was that the father did it. We checked it out, but he didn't have a motive. No leads to follow up on. same with the mother surviving family checked out clean too the father had a few clients who might have had motive but the means weren't there

he was a divorce lawyer but not for anybody who could have taken out an entire family without leaving evidence there was a chemistry teacher who lived three blocks away and we investigated him for a while because of the canisters but he was alibied out same with the dentists who lived nearby The wife had an online flirtation with some kid out of England,

altruist, and he wasn't even in the country in the time of the murders. We settled, unhappily, on the idea of a random killing. Hardest pieces of shit to catch when there's no pattern like that. We must have sunk tens of thousands of man hours into this case chasing down leads. Came out of it, we did track down the canisters. They were stolen from a laboratory 10 miles away. There was no security footage, any leads on the thief. After six months with no repeat attacks, the investigation went cold.

The Driscolls had been knocked out and abducted. Like I said, no one ever found the bodies. Who was to say they hadn't just run off? What can you tell us about how the confession wound up with Miss Bamer? She'd been following the case for some, both personally and as a reporter. Like I said, it captured the imagination of a lot of people. Even seemingly normal folks thought it could have been aliens, ghosts, or demons.

Ms. Bamer published a retrospective on the murders given the 20-year anniversary. It caused the renewed interests, which happened from time to time. As usual, I declined to comment, citing lack of new evidence. I remember her asking for my quote, though, which is why I accepted the lunch meeting. After publication of the article, Ms. Bamer claimed that she had been sent the file she wished to have me authenticate. The most pertinent part of the file was a confession. I assured Ms. Bamer that such false documents are not uncommon, especially on older cases like this, and that I'd personally heard two dozen confessions of the Driscoll murders.

She was insistent. Once I felt she wasn't trying to pull off a hoax or getting off on the idea of talking about a murder, I agreed to the meeting. She stated that confession had been mailed to her in the same envelope she showed to me when we met for lunch. Can you describe its contents? Old newspaper clipping, outlining the progress of my investigation. They seemed appropriately yellowed, so I guess they were from the trophy book of the perpetrator. There were also six photos alleging to be the... individual members of the Driscoll family, as well as several other photos of the facility

where they had been taken. Don't stop shaking, you see? I'm trying as hard as I can, and I just can't make it happen. That's the paramedic for a sedative when I'm done with the statement. I don't think I'll be able to sleep otherwise. I don't want anything to interfere with my recollection for your recording. Just under my head like the Driscoll family. photos had aged poorly and they could have been of anyone.

It was very hard to distinguish features. However, given the elaborate nature of the file, I figured it did warrant a further look. It was brief. Address. That's the first thing I noticed. I couldn't locate the address online, which meant it had to be old. The confession letter said,

Stop printing lies. I never killed anyone. It just took a while. to get them ready for breakfast. Breakfast menu a month after the disappearance. Someone had drawn a red circle around a picture of. The letter said, they're not dead.

They're getting ready for breakfast. Detective Melgate, do you need a moment? We tried to track down the menu. We could never find out where it had come from. It wasn't any place local. The identifying information had been cut out. I don't know what else we could have done. I just...

Why did you decide to personally investigate the location mentioned in the letter? Make sure it wasn't a hoax. I still wasn't convinced. I've had 20 years of people sending me fake evidence. I guess maybe the case captured my imagination too. I always figured that one day I'd think of something I'd overlooked and solved the whole thing. Felt unbelievable to have someone dumped the answer in my lap. I needed to see with my own two eyes.

Miss Bamer had pinpointed the location with city records, but neither of us was sure if it was still there. It was an abandoned industrial building. The last time I had had a valid mailing address was 50 years ago. It might have caved in for all we knew. I think I wanted to be the one that cracked it, whether or not it was dumped in my lap. The case was hung over my head for 20 years.

Miss Bamer and I agreed to meet there the following morning. Can you describe the crime scene? My sincerest apologies for the interruption, but it appears as though there are some issues with an unhappy customer. Tell you what, let me go take care of things real quick, and I'll be right with you. Well, there you are. Been looking all over for you.

So sorry about the minor inconvenience. Now, where were we? Can you describe the crime scene? Yeah, it was an industrial building, as I stated. By maybe 45 feet wide? It was a wooden structure, and at first the conditions seemed to match the neighboring buildings. However, I noticed the facade had been recently patched in a few locations. Further investigation also revealed that the entrance had been chained.

and locked. My understanding was that it used to be a sheet metal shop. Is there a garbage can? I think I might vomit. Thank you. I want that sedative. Okay? Feeling very, very faintly.

I figured that would count as I needed it as a civilian, but please say you believe me. I do. You describe the interior of the building. I'm trying to focus through this. I'm sorry. It's just... I'd like to go to sleep after this for a very long time. Arametic here.

Is a sedative ready? Yeah? Okay. Thank goodness. The warehouse had not been as abandoned as we were previously led to believe. The interior had a hallway with six rooms. The construction was old but visibly newer than the rest of the building. The walls between each room had been soundproof.

There were no windows to the outside or doorways between the rooms themselves. The only access was through the hallway. Tried to make this ban relief at that point. The smell was stronger inside. You could feel it. The smell like a grit getting stuck in your nose, like bits of sand all over your skin. Rooms presses, four foot by eight foot custom presses. I couldn't figure what they were at first because they were hovering over what looked like hospital beds.

There were ivy bags in each room as well as other medical equipment. I'm alive for so long, of course. Do you need to take a break? No. The idea of having to start this again is way worse than the idea of finishing it. Then please describe your next course of action. The building was obviously an active crime scene. I had no doubt at this point.

I was in the lair of what I believed. to be a serial killer. I tried to tell Ms. Bammy to leave several times. She refused on the grounds that it would not be right to leave me on my own. It wasn't much time to make an issue out of it. My opinion of hers, she was a bit nosy, but basically all right, and I didn't think she'd be a liability.

If she stayed out of my way, I had to make a judgment call as to whether or not I should proceed on my own in case the family was somehow and possibly still alive, and perhaps in danger, or if I should leave and call for backup. I told my wife where I was going previously, so I knew my absence would be noted and reported if the worst happened. Neither of us could get cell reception, and so it was like a gas, but not really. I don't want to describe it any more than that.

It was a sound. My attention further on matters. There were some stairs at the very far end of the warehouse descending into the basement, pulled my service revolver, flashlight on my person as well, and turned it on as I descended into the basement. Aired 20-year disappearance, I don't know. The floor was dirt,

and there was a tunnel that retreated back far enough that it had to be supported with struts at regular intervals. My flashlight first illuminated the... I wish they had... A moment. Four years old, for Christ's sake. You had this sense that you're invincible

and that you're never going to die. Leave them somehow. I'm sorry, Hobb, but I have to ask, can you describe the scene? Yeah, what I was looking at it. He was obviously made of flesh and pieces. Truth was the eyeball. Dak was a ported to the size of a saucer. When I realized what I was looking at was years of the entire Driscoll family under those pressers for 20 years,

keeping them alive on an IV drip, increasing the pressure on them so very, slowly that their bodies had time to adapt until they had been flattened like. He squished them by about a quarter inch every year for 20 years. Without any chance of recovery and stacked them on top of each other. Deal with four. I don't want to know. We're all dead. Started gasping again.

What did they say? Couldn't speak without help. I think. Dritriscoll. How much about the gender or the age? Where there was here. A mess of scar. This son of a bitch who did this must have removed parts of their skulls.

I've got no idea how he got their heads so flat otherwise. Not as flat as the rest of their bodies, but flat. Though knows how their brains handled that. Everywhere, presses had flattened out their noses, I guess. Avery was 14 when he disappeared. The bodies were getting a sort of a pump with my flash. led and realized everyone in the stack was hooked up to the breathe on their own, you see? Not after a while. There simply wasn't enough volume for their lungs to inflate.

There was some sort of opening cut right into each of their chests. There was a switch on the pump. I pressed it or to do something. Maybe some stupid part of me thought that if I switched it on, they would inflate and be okay. I switched it. It increased the volume of air to the topmost. hose, I could hear the pump working harder, which is when Avery Driscoll started to scream. He said other things, too. He didn't make much sense, kept yelling, Bane of error over and over again, something about the family, too. I didn't understand it. He was in pain, and I would hope he had gone insane several years previously. Oh, my God.

My thoughts exactly? Since I was his torturer. A closer look at his eyes revealed that it was mostly a mess of white scar tissue. It was blind as a bat. They managed to find meaning and purpose again after a while, when in the Driscoll family could have done that. I stated my name. I told him I was a detective. I told him I was there to help.

I repeated it over and over again, knowing of course there was nothing that anyone anywhere could do to help. Arrived. Drawn by the sound. Before she saw the stack, she told me that I had seen. screamed and she had come to help. I don't remember having done so. She arrived.

Then she saw the stack. But I was intent on Avery Driscoll. He was able to hear. He became lucid for a few moments. It was a strain to understand what he said, but I will never be able to forget it. Please kill me. Please kill me.

Long time. I'd still cry and he did. Although his tear ducks were too deformed for it to be noticeable. I should have forced Ms. Bamer to leave. action in the matter which I regret more than failing to solve the case 20 years ago. Not just for her own sake, but for what she did next any more deeply if she tried. She took away the last comfort any of them in that stack had. You see, they had not been able to speak to one another for 20 years.

She said, that's all them, isn't it? That's the entire Driscoll family. They're all alive in there. the whole family. Twenty years, each member of the Driscoll family had been unaware their fellow inmates were the other members of their family. They'd all been holding out hope their family was okay. All of them dreaming someone out there loved them and was free from suffering. But with the screams of six people tortured over two decades,

smashed down to a width of four inches sounds like when they're all stacked on top of one another. It sounds like the case... I think that's enough, Detective Millgate. Not yet. It's my mistake. I should have tried harder. Error, so it was my responsibility. I shot them.

Mercy is hard, but I owed it to them. It failed to save them. It only took one bullet to go all the way through. No peace. We left and we called for backup after that. Either Ms. Bamer nor I wished to remain with the bodies. I elected not to follow the crime scene investigators back into the basement.

I asked if I could make a statement and leave, and after one of them saw what I had seen, they agreed. I have my sedative now. Yes, yes, of course. Please show in the paramedics. I'll roll up my sleeve. My wife has diabetes, so I'm well aware of the routine. Oh, uh, and, uh,

please make sure you have the same courtesy available for Ms. Bamer. I seem to have it worse than me, even throw up or cry. Of course. Do you know where she is now? She told the lead at the crime scene she was going home, but we haven't been able to reach her. Did you try the paper? Which paper?

Are you sure? There is no one by the last name of Bamer on staff with the Daily World. Thank you for your patronage. Hope you enjoyed your new relic as much as I've enjoyed passing along its sordid history. It does come with our usual warning, however. absolutely no refunds, no exchanges, and we won't be held liable for anything that may or may not occur while the object is in your possession. Oh, you think just because you're only listening to my voice that you have nothing to be

concerned about? Let me assure you that your visit to the antiquarium, Whether in the flesh or in your mind's eye is most certainly not in vain. You are, after all, the architect of this place. I must say you've done a hell of a job. Even the way you have given me a face and carved out the most minute details of my person in that cerebrum of yours is quite impressive indeed. Therefore, the items you procure within these walls, even on a metaphysical level, are very, very real, and are now and forever part of your subconscious. All part of our standard bill of sale, really?

Till next time, we'll be waiting for you whenever you close your eyes in the space between. sleep and dream. During regular business hours, of course, or by appointment, only for you, our best customer. You have a good night now. The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings, Lot 016, The Pancake Family, written by A.A. Peterson, starring Devon Sawa and Kate Siegel, featuring Stephen Knowles as the antique dealer. Additional sound effects by AV productions. Additional music by Coag, Mark Vandermulen, ESN productions, and Matea Cuppelli.

Engineering Production and Sound Design by Trevor Shand. Theme music by the Newton Brothers. The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings is created and curated by Trevor and Lauren Shand. Follow us on Instagram and Twitter at Antiquarium Pod. Call the Antiquarium at 646-481-7197.